


Sweet Relief

by slippery_soak



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bladder Control, Consensual Kink, Crying, Desperation, Established Relationship, Gentle Dom Sam Wilson, Hand Jobs, M/M, Omorashi, Sub Steve Rogers, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slippery_soak/pseuds/slippery_soak
Summary: Sam dictates when Steve is allowed to let go.It’s a sweet, sweet relief.





	Sweet Relief

**Author's Note:**

> This little snippet was cut from a longer Sam/Steve story I was writing elsewhere. I didn’t want to let the scene go to waste so I’m posting it here, for your kinky-ass enjoyment lol.

Steve is desperate. Very, very desperate. He’s been on the verge of begging Sam to just let him go for at least thirty minutes now, but Sam has kept him from his release, letting Steve fidget and squirm until he could no longer sit on the couch beside him. Now he’s allowed Steve to stand up and pace from one end of the room to the other. Steve bounces on the balls of his feet, feels his bladder cramping and spasming—gloriously, achingly full. He relishes the feeling even as the intense pangs have him doubled over, gripping his sides, trying not reach between his legs to squeeze himself, because that is Sam’s number one rule. When they play this game, Sam is adamant that Steve not be allowed to touch himself, to give himself any sort of relief with his own hands. He is allowed to squirm and grip his thighs, or push his legs together and clench his muscles. On one particularly desperate occasion Steve was allowed to rut shamelessly into a couch cushion until even that delicious friction no longer gave him any relief. But to actually grip himself or out right masturbate? Absolutely not. The only time Steve’s hand is allowed around his cock is when he’s actually, finally pissing.

Steve hasn’t broken the rule once. Yes, it can be torture, but fuck if it doesn’t just make everything _so much better_. His desperation is always heightened and much more real when he feels like he could lose control at any moment without even the consolation of his hand slowing down the floodgates—with no barriers between himself and the abject humiliation of soaking whatever clothing he is wearing. There’s also the added bonus that following Sam’s rule makes Steve feel _good_. When he follows Sam’s rules he is praised and petted and _loved_. 

Sam has never taken things so far that Steve has actually lost complete control and wet his pants. Steve always makes it to the toilet—sometimes just barely, but he still makes it. Sometimes it’s so bad that once his release starts he’s so overcome with relief that the endorphin rush causes his knees to buckle and practically give out. But Sam is always there at those times, just one step behind him, wrapping a strong arm around his middle, holding him up, petting him. He whispers to Steve what a good boy he is, how proud of him he is for following the rules and holding out so long. Best of all he tells Steve how it’s okay to lose control, to not have to worry about making decisions because he’s _safe_ in Sam’s arm. And Steve whimpers, and moans, and stands there peeing while wrapped in Sam’s warm embrace, until he’s empty, and weightless, and floating free. 

But now Sam seems to be taking things farther than he ever has before. Steve continues to pace in the living room, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over because _fuck_ if it isn’t starting to hurt. Like really hurt. Maybe not quite safeword hurting yet, but it is closer than Steve has ever been to calling a halt to everything. He is becoming frantic with the need to grab his crotch, to hell with the rules. He knows with certainty that he’s only a minute or two away from actively leaking into his underwear. The thought both terrifies and excites him. On one hand he knows how very, very _wrong_ it would be for him to wet himself while standing fully clothed in the living room. On the other hand, the thought of giving up all his control and submitting to his body’s needs without consciously deciding to, is thrilling. 

But Sam hasn’t said he can go. And he can’t touch himself. His legs are beginning to feel like jelly, and the liquid in his bladder is sloshing around threateningly. He can’t hold back the whimper in his voice as he finally starts to beg. “Sam...Sam please. I can’t hold it any longer.” 

Sam cocks an eyebrow, glancing up from the book he’s ever-so-nonchalantly reading on the couch. “You sure about that, Steve? Because I’m not.” 

Steve chokes back a sob, his hand ghosting over the front of his pants restlessly. 

“Un-ah—rules, Steve.” Sam admonishes. “You’re doing real good, baby. I know you can hold out a little longer for me.” 

“I can’t,” Steve whines, not caring how pathetic he sounds. This is it, finally—his absolute limit has been reached. He feels the urine inside him, traveling down his length, pooling at the tip of his penis, ready to leak at any second with or without his approval. “I really, really can’t.” 

Sam stands up then, tossing his book aside. He crosses the room, coming to stand half a foot away from Steve’s trembling body. He reaches out, brushing comforting fingers up and down Steve’s arms, causing Steve to relax just the tiniest fraction, and— 

“Oh, fuck,” Steve exclaims, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels his pee begin to leak out, spreading into his underwear, causing a warm wet patch to begin forming there. He fights hard to clench down and stop the flow and is mostly successful but not enough that the beginning of a damp patch isn’t visible on the front of his sweatpants. “Fuck fuck fuck Sam I’m sorry—“ 

“Hey, baby, it’s okay. You did really good today,” Sam replies softly, tightening his grip on Steve’s arms. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.” 

“I’m not gonna make it. I can’t move. I’m not—“ 

“Yeah, you are. You can do this. Just lean on me.” 

Steve lets Sam wrap his arms around him, gingerly guiding him to the bathroom. Each step Steve takes causes more piss to squirt into his underwear. He struggles as hard as he can to keep it in, but it’s a losing battle, and he begins secretly, silently praying for sweet relief the whole way down the hall. He knows that he’s whimpering and moaning, making tiny, incoherent noises of frustration and shame and want. Once in the bathroom he almost completely gives up the fight, but Sam is murmuring quietly and petting at his shoulders and arms. 

“Just another couple of steps, Steve.” Sam’s breath is hot on his neck but still Steve finds himself shivering. He mumbles protests even as Sam guides him in front of the toilet and deftly pushes his damp underwear and sweats down below his balls in one swift motion. Steve leans his back against Sam’s chest and relaxes completely. And then his pee starts gushing out of him full-force. 

“Whoa, buddy,” Sam laughs and wraps his own hand around Steve’s dick, guiding his stream into the bowl. Steve moans and lets his head roll back against Sam’s shoulder as he gives up everything, pissing like he hasn’t pissed in days. 

Up until this point he’d thought things couldn’t get any better than the feelings he experienced previously holding his pee until the last minute and then letting go in sweet relief. But this? Being pushed past his breaking point, to the point of having zero control whatsoever, and then having Sam’s—Sam’s!—hand wrapped around his dick, long soft fingers guiding him, controlling him while he just floats in a cloud of pure bliss. This is the greatest feeling ever. 

After what feels like an eternity, his stream slows to a trickle. Sam helps shake off the last few drops gently but doesn’t move away to help Steve undress and climb into the shower, like usual. 

Instead, Sam begins to gently stroke Steve—a soft, silky touch that instantly has Steve hardening in his hand. Steve gives a deep-throated moan and trembles against Sam’s strong body. Sam continues to work his dick in agonizing slow and languid motions, while pressing his lips to the back of Steve’s neck, licking and sucking and nuzzling against his skin. Steve doesn’t have a single thought in his head; every nerve ending in his body feels electrified. He’s dimly aware of Sam whispering in his ear— 

_Come for me, baby. That’s it. I’ve got you_. 

He whimpers and stutters for breath as Sam speeds up his movements with a twist of his wrist and a rhythmic motion and _oh, fuck_ Steve doesn’t known which way is up and which way is down. He feels his release building in his entire body, taut with need. Sam becomes relentless in his quest to drag an orgasm out of him. It doesn’t take long at all. A few more whispered words, and then Steve is shaking from head to toe, coming, spurting in long thick ropes over the toilet, marking the wall with his come, panting and twisting in Sam’s arms until they are pressed chest to chest. His entire body is being supported by Sam. Steve buries his face in Sam’s neck and that’s when he begins to feel the tears making hot, wet tracks down his face. Sam strokes his back and continues to whisper words Steve can’t decipher, while Steve cries from the sheer relief of it all, knowing that this has been the greatest release of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very bad work of fan fiction. Don’t sue me.
> 
> Unbeta’d.


End file.
